Early on, if I was alone two three nights in a row, I’d start writing poems about suicide.

Nicholson’s remark frames solitude as a catalyst for intrusive, self-destructive ideation—rendered not as an imminent plan but as a creative, verbalized symptom (“writing poems”) that surfaces when he is isolated for several nights. The line suggests an early emotional volatility and a tendency to metabolize distress through art-making, even in a dark register. It also hints at the precarious boundary between performance/expressiveness and genuine suffering: the “poems” function as both outlet and alarm bell, implying that connection and activity were protective factors. As a quotation, it complicates the public image of Nicholson’s bravado by acknowledging vulnerability and the psychological costs of loneliness.